


Leading The Blind

by Amaria_Anna_D



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017), daredevil - Fandom
Genre: Blindness, Healing, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Physical Disability, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaria_Anna_D/pseuds/Amaria_Anna_D
Summary: Matt's life is turned upside down when he ends up taking in an injured Frank. Temporarily blinded by a flash grenade, Frank finds himself dealing with more than just an instability to see. Both men are forced to deal with feelings that they've been ignoring for a while now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A MASSIVE amount of credit for this story goes to Entropyrose who is way too kind to me and helped cheer me on the whole way through. Also, to HoneyGoth who was an amazing beta for this story.  
> A Huge thanks also goes to Raving_Liberal for the header she made as well as [THIS AWESOME FANMIX](https://www.dropbox.com/s/k8a89w1to4ad7d1/Leading%20the%20Blind.zip?dl=0)

Waking up cuffed to a bed wasn’t something completely new to him, but the fact that Frank couldn’t open his eyes was certainly not something that had happened before. The world felt dull as he shook his head and tried to piece together what the fuck had happened and where the hell he was. The drug he must be on made it hard to concentrate, and he tried in vain to raise his hands to his face to wipe away whatever was on his face. He could hear a clinking sound as the cuffs struck against a bed frame, but that was the only thing he could hear that gave him any kind of clue as to where he was. Pushing harder against the fog in his brain, Frank tried to replay the last things he remembered. He’d followed an arms dealer to a warehouse. Things went wrong… He could remember realizing he was fucked when there were an extra dozen men inside, but what exactly happened was all a blur. Red had been there…

“Red?” His voice sounded pathetic and weak coming back to his own ears, and he hated that worse than the thought that he was about to be dropped off to some well meaning cop. Forcing himself to sit up as far as he could, he tried again: “You there, Red?”

There was a groan from across the room followed by footsteps. “Yeah. I’m here, Frank.”

“What the fuck happened?”

The vigilante murmured something about karma before the bed dipped near Frank’s feet. “What do you remember?”

“A fuck ton of shooting, and you hopping out of a sky light. Other than that… nothing,” Frank admitted. “Mind filling in the gaps?”

“That sums up most of it, actually. A flash grenade went off in your face, Frank. You don’t remember me helping you out of there at all?”

Shaking his head, Frank fell back onto the pillow. He remembered falling from one of the scaffolds and not being able to see where he was falling to, but he couldn’t say he truly remembered the grenade going off or Red helping him. “And the cuffs?”

“You took a swing at my friend when she tried patching you up.” There was a sternness to his voice that Frank hadn’t heard since the night on the roof with Grotto, and he could tell that once again the fucking boy scout was judging him. He shouldn’t care, but the thought that he may have hit an innocent woman struck a nerve.

“Did I hurt her?”

“I didn’t let you,” Red replied stiffly. There it was again—that tone that said louder than any words that the lawyer/vigilante thought he was superior to mere mortals, most of all Frank.

“Christ, do you really think I’d want to hurt someone who hasn’t done jack shit but try to help my sorry ass?” Frank spat out in disgust. He didn’t realize that he was straining against the cuffs until they scraped against the frame harshly. “Fuck! Uncuff me, Red!”

Surprisingly, the cuffs fell away. Frank’s hands flew to his face instantly and were just as quickly grabbed by Red’s. “Don’t mess with the bandages.”

“Thought your friend fixed me up?” Frank asked, doing as he was told. He sat up straight and tried his damnedest to ‘look’ to where Red’s voice was coming from. With the haze clearing from his brain, the situation was fully taking shape in his mind and there was a small bit of nervousness growing in his gut. “Or is this just you fucking with me?”

“She did her best, and I wouldn’t fuck with you—not about this. She left some drops for your eyes, but she said it could take a couple of weeks for your eyes to heal. The good news is that they will more than likely heal.” If he didn’t know better, Frank would swear that Red sounded relieved.

“Bullshit,” the older man growled. “Don’t act like you care, and don’t try to pretend that you aren’t loving this.”

“Why would I be loving this, Frank?” the phantom voice asked from across the room, farther away than before. He hadn’t even heard him move, and that didn’t sit well in Frank’s gut.

“I know who you are. Either you’re really blind or you put on one hell of an act, Mr. Murdock,” Frank said smugly. He began unwinding the gauze from his eyes defiantly. This time there were no hands to stop him. His eyelids were heavy with some sort of gel-like medication, and his lashes felt matted as he tried to pry them apart. The second he succeeded, it felt like someone had shoved a scalpel straight into the stem of his brain through his eyeballs. “Christ!”

“I tried to warn you,” Red said calmly. He once again had moved across the room silently and began re-applying the bandages carefully. “And this isn’t the kind of thing I get off on. I don’t enjoy other people’s suffering—not even yours. Leave the bandages on.”

“So what now?” Frank asked. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t more than a little freaked out by the idea of not being able to see when Red dropped him off to the police station. He wasn’t scared of what could happen in a fight on any given day, but take away his sight… Frank always had a plan. His mind was always seeing escape routes and attack points everywhere he went, but right now, he couldn’t see a damn thing. He hadn’t been afraid of the dark since he was maybe three. This was more than just normal darkness, though. It was damn near suffocating.

Red sighed. “You stay with me until your eyes heal. Claire will check in every couple of days to get a look at your eyes—she’s no ophthalmologist, but she’s the best I can do without taking you to a hospital.”

“You’re not turning me in?” Frank’s mouth nearly hung open at the idea that Red would let him go free.

“If I take you in like this, there’s no telling what happens to you in prison. I want you alive and serving time, Frank, not in the morgue.”

The former Marine snorted. “Thanks...I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.” Frank could hear Red walking across the room again. “I’m going to make us each a sandwich then we’ll start getting this place mapped out.”

“Mapped out?”

If Frank didn’t know any better, he’d swear he heard a snort of laughter coming from across the room. “Would you rather I just let you crash into everything in the damn room? We are going to walk the space so you can count off steps and get a feel for where everything is. The good news for you is that I never move anything unless I absolutely can’t help it.”

The thought of Red leading him around—helpless—made his insides curl, but he did his best not to let it show. Instead, he listened to the sounds around him, trying to make sense of any of it. He could hear Red moving in the kitchen; opening and closing the fridge, the telltale clink of a knife against a jar, but other than that, he felt lost. Footsteps made their way back to where he sat and a plate was pushed against the back of his hand.

“Ham and cheese on wheat is sitting dead center of the plate. I’m putting a glass of water on the stand beside the bed. Keep your hands low and slow when you reach for it,” Red instructed patiently. Honestly, any thought that he could be enjoying this flew from Frank’s mind when he heard how sincere tone in Red’s voice.

“Are you really blind?” he asked suddenly.

“I lost my sight completely when I was nine. I was in an accident, but my other senses are heightened hundreds of times over what a normal person’s are. I see through them; so yes, I am blind. But I can sense enough that blindness is different for me than it is for most people,” the lawyer explained. “Still, there are a lot of things that I can’t do that sighted people can, and in a lot of ways, doing things the way most other blind people do them is just easier for me. I don’t take what you’re going through lightly, Frank. I wouldn’t wish this on someone.”

Taking a bite of sandwich, Frank was suddenly grateful that Red had chosen a finger food and was keenly aware that it was no accident. He finished every bit of the food and reached for the glass just as he’d been told. His fingers still managed to fumble with the simple task, and in no time, Red’s hand was over top of his, keeping the glass upright.

“It’s going to take some practice, but let’s hope your eyes heal before you get too good at it,” Red teased lightly.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed glumly. “Let’s hope.”

After the meal, Frank was all too aware of the fact that he had to piss. He’d gotten used to holding it over the years, but he hadn’t gone since before the warehouse—god, he hoped he hadn’t, anyway—and his bladder was actually almost painful. Frank wasn’t bashful about his bodily functions. He’d always been the one to laugh when Maria was mortified over him opening the door while she took a dump. Everyone shit and pissed just the same. It was the fact that he had to be led to the bathroom that galled him, but he decided that it was better to just ask than to piss himself.

“I’ve gotta use the head,” he announced plainly.

In an instant, Red was at his side. He led Frank’s fingers to his arm lightly. “Follow about a step behind me. Keep your left hand out at a slight angle with your elbow gently bent. Curl your fingers inward, so that if you do hit something it is the back of your hand that bumps into it first.”

“Christ, Red, lessons already?” Frank grumbled.

“No time like the present.” When they reached the toilet, Frank’s knees grazed the edge of the bowl. “Use your ears on this one. Unless you hear it hitting water, please stop. I don’t want to have to scrub my bathroom.”

By now, Frank’s patience was wearing thin. He didn’t wait for Red to leave the room before pulling his cock out. “Wanna shake it for me too?”

“The sink is about two steps directly to your left. Hot on the left, cold on the right, and the soap is sitting at directly three o’clock from the cold tap,” the blind man continued on, ignoring his unwilling student’s barb.

From what Frank could tell, he managed to keep Red’s bathroom mostly piss free. He was also able to wash his hands without too much problem. It felt strange to be doing normal things without seeing. Not being able to open his eyes and see himself in the bathroom mirror was almost surreal. He let Red lead him back toward what he assumed was the bedroom before saying anything.

“Look, Red, I’m really tired. Can we do this in the morning?” he asked softly.

Red let out a small, thoughtful hum. “I suppose so, but I’m not going to baby you, Frank. I’ve got a life still to live, and I can’t be here for you every second of every day.”

Frank nodded, but then idly wondered if Red could tell that. “Sure,” he agreed out loud.

Before Red let him get back into the bed, he handed him some clothes including a clean pair of boxers. They were slightly snug, but surprisingly still fit him. Either way, it felt good to be in clean clothes. He breathed in the scent of them as he laid down. Red didn’t use anything too heavily scented, he realized. He couldn’t find anything floral or “summer breeze-y” about them. What he did notice this time around was the feel of the sheets as he slid into them. The fabric beneath him was soft and slick. Then again, Red had said his other senses were stronger than normal. It stood to reason that the smell of most laundry soap or the feel of cheap sheets would drive him insane.

“Good night, Red,” Frank said as his head hit the pillow.

“Good night, Frank,” the vigilante returned.

The next morning, Frank woke with a start. It took him a minute to place his surroundings and remember why he was in Red’s bed. His eyes burned like fire beneath the bandages and still managed to itch like hell at the same time. Swearing he brought his hands to his face and skimmed the edge of the gauze, not sure what to do to make it feel any better.

“Try not to touch the bandages,” Red’s voice said calmly from somewhere across the void. “I’ve got a pain pill for you after breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Frank murmured, forcing his hands to his sides.

“It hurts like hell. I remember that much.” Once again, Red ‘magically’ appeared by Frank’s side without him realizing it, and he couldn’t stop himself from jumping a little when a hand touched his shoulder. “Sorry. I don’t spend a lot of time with other blind people, and it’s pretty rare that someone can sneak up on me. I’ll try to let you know when I’m coming.”

Frank grunted a response as he was lead to the kitchen table.

Breakfast was an egg and sausage sandwich—more finger food, thank Christ. He listened patiently as Red gave the location of each thing in front of Frank down to where the salt and pepper were located. This time, Frank managed to survive the meal without spilling anything.

“Here’s your painkiller,” Red announced before reaching for Frank’s hand. Red’s hands were softer than Frank’s own, but much rougher than he’d imagine they would be. His palms were broad and his long fingers were lightly calloused at the ends. Even with a casual touch, Frank could feel that his knuckles were hardened. It was amazing how much Frank enjoyed feeling just Red’s hands. He enjoyed it too much, his mind warned. Frank grabbed the pill quickly and downed it with a bit of orange juice.

“Lesson time, Mr. Murdock?” he asked, trying to distract himself.

“Lesson time,” Red agreed.

After that, the pair spent the better part of two hours going through each room of Red’s apartment. The place was definitely roomy by New York standards, but was still small enough that Frank didn’t feel too terribly overwhelmed. At least, he could make it from the couch to the john when nature called. Red promised to go over the finer locations of where things were in the kitchen and bathroom after lunch, but he sounded nearly as tired as Frank was when they both sunk onto the lumpy couch.

“This must’ve scared the shit out of you as a kid,” Frank mused.

Beside him, he could almost picture Red shrugging. “Yes and no. Waking up blind, _that_ scared the shit out of me. By the time I was starting rehab, I actually looked forward to learning this kind of thing. I’d always been a latch-key kid. My dad never had the time to hover, so I’d always been independent. I wanted that again so bad that it didn’t dawn on me that I _should_ be scared about what I could be walking into.”

“You’re a stubborn shit now, Red, and it doesn’t surprise me that you were back then too.” Frank laughed a little before sobering. “Thanks for doing this for me.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t think this means I’m not dropping your ass at the precinct the second your vision clears,” Red warned without much bite to his words. He paused for a moment. “What’s funny to me is that I actually have to think about all of the things I’m showing you. It’s become second nature to me to the point that thinking of what this must be like from your standpoint is a bit daunting. Part of me is almost glad it happened when I was a kid and not an adult.”

“Really?”

“I mean, first of all, I had my dad there through the bulk of the transition. On top of that, I didn’t have to adapt a career or a family home. I still had a lot to learn and deal with, but it...I dunno, it seemed easier. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still very thankful that I wasn’t born blind,” he added hastily. “Not only are the memories nice, but being able to understand things in visual terms makes life a lot easier.”

“Guess I never thought of any of that,” Frank contemplate.

Red gave a little chuckle. “Why would you? It wasn’t like you were ever blind before or had it as a possible outcome.”

Suddenly, Frank thought of someone he hadn’t in a damned long time. “A good friend of mine lost his left eye and most of the sight in his right in Iraq. I remember watching it happen, and then coming back to the states to visit him. He wasn’t much younger than me, but I always thought of him as a kid, you know? Anyway, I decided I was going to go see him back at his parent’s place. Fuck, Red, they should’ve just put this kid in the ground. He just let himself waste away to shit, and his family stood there and watched it. The whole time I was there, all I could think was; I’m glad it’s not me. Few months after that I heard he blew his brains all over his mom’s wallpaper.”

“Fuck,” Red muttered. “Everyone deals with things differently. I wish I could say that he was the only person who ever faced a disability and chose the road out. And I wish I could say that people didn’t think that was what most people with a disability want, but it’s not. For every person like your friend, there are God only knows how many blind people in this world living their lives like everyone else. There are a lot of us who very strongly believe that its better to be alive and blind than it is to be dead.”

The rest of the day passed with more lessons on how not to kill yourself while sightless and a lot less talking. Frank wasn’t used to much conversation, and he got the feeling that Red wasn’t terribly social on a regular basis either. When they were done with the kitchen and bath, Red handed Frank a pair of earbuds and an older style iPod with braille markers over the buttons. The last lesson of the day was on how not to go fucking insane from boredom while Red was out.

Frank didn’t listen to the audiobook he’d selected for very long after Red was gone. He pulled out the earbuds and laid on the couch just listening to the stillness of the room. It was funny how much darker the room seemed without anyone else in it. Holding his hand out in what Red had called a “defensive angle,” he walked across the room to the windows that had been streaming warm sunlight across the room a few hours earlier. The air felt cooler near the windows and he could hear rain falling outside. He idly wondered what the view was like. Red’s apartment could face a brick wall, and he’d be none the wiser. Turning back towards the sitting area, he counted out his steps and made it safely to the couch. The round trip had been a total of fifteen steps, but it was the first time he’d ventured off of the couch on his own. Feeling a little brave and a lot bored, Frank made his way around the apartment several times without incident. He was mid-way back from the kitchen when a knock came to the door.

Frank froze mid-step and listened for a moment.

“Frank, are you in there?” A muffled female voice called from the other side of the door.

He tried to ignore the little bit of panic that rose in his gut. The big, bad Punisher was just about ready to shake in his borrowed socks. Reaching out to get his bearing, he took a few tentative steps towards the door without speaking.

“Frank, it’s Claire.”

Cussing silently at himself for being such a pussy, Frank shuffled down the hall he remembered traversing only a few hours earlier. He unfortunately was distracted this time around and nailed his shins on the low bench that ran down one side of the hall. This time, the cussing was out loud.

“I’ve got a key, and I’m coming in, okay? Don’t freak out,” Claire said from the opposite side of the door. He heard the door click open slowly and then close again. “Hi,” she said tightly. “We met last night, but I don’t count on you remembering much.”

“Hey,” Frank replied, feeling alternately glad the woman was there and pissed that she had broken his streak of not killing himself on the furniture. “Matt’s out.”

“I know,” she replied. “He called and asked me to swing by when my shift at the hospital was over.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nurse practitioner,” she corrected.

“Jesus, this is awkward,” Frank sighed heavily. “Look, I’m sorry I took a swing at you.”

“Apology accepted, but that actually isn’t the thing I find most objectionable about you,” she grumbled in response. Frank didn’t know why, but her honesty made him laugh. “And you find that funny, which is even scarier.”

“You can tell Red you did your duty and checked on me, if you want. Go ahead home. I’m okay on my own, ma’am,” he assured her. Despite his reputation, scaring the shit out of innocent people wasn’t something he got off on. “And I really am sorry for trying to hit you last night. I don’t hit people who don’t deserve it, especially not women.”

“Glad to know my vagina at least lowers me on your kill list,” she muttered flatly. Claire was silent for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh.“C’mon, let’s get you back to the couch. I’ll at least check your bandages and get you something to eat before I leave.”

Meeting Claire without being able to see her was an odd experience. He had no fucking clue if she was black, white, or polk-a-dot, or if she was young or old. He tried to use his remaining senses to fill in the blanks, but he was no fucking good at guessing games. The only thing he knew about her was that her the arm that she’d offered to him was slender and well toned. Logically, it shouldn’t matter to Frank what the hell she looked like. He wasn’t looking for a pick up. Rather than focus on the fact that the woman was faceless to him, Frank decided to try having a conversation.

“How long have you known Red?” he asked.

“He let’s you get away with calling him ‘Red?’” she asked with a snort.

“I’ve never asked his opinion on it, if that’s what you mean,” he boasted. He doubted too many people gave the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen as much shit as he did. “Anyway, how long have you known Matt then?”

“Long enough to know he’s a good person. Too good for his own health, in fact. I’ve stopped him from bleeding out on that same couch your sitting on now, as a matter of fact.” Her voice didn’t exactly quaver when she spoke to him—he could tell she was too strong for that—but there was something about the way she spoke that made him wonder if she truly was scared of him. He couldn’t blame her if that was the case, but he regretted it all the same. Or maybe there was something else...

“Not gonna argue the fact that he’s a good guy,” he said honestly. “He saved you, didn’t he?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Claire murmured. “No offense, but I don’t need another vigilante in my life right now. Shit’s complicated enough as it is.”

“Amen to that.”

The silence between them was uneasy. While Frank wasn’t exactly suspicious of her, he didn’t exactly feel at ease either. She had a key for Red’s apartment and was clearly close to him, but Frank didn’t know her from Eve. She could have very easily picked up her cellphone and tipped the cops off to his location—not that it was a likely option, given that it would incriminate Red—but he was counting on the fact that she didn’t.

“Tomato soup and painkillers,” she said gruffly. A warm mug was pushed against his hand followed by a couple of pills in the other. “Much to my mama’s dismay, I don’t cook much,” she added almost apologetically.

The way she pronounced the word “mama” struck a cord with Frank, and he suddenly felt like he had a clue. “Hispanic?”

“Not that it is any of your business, but my mom’s from Cuba.” He felt the couch dip on the other end, and it was the closest she’d come to him since depositing him there. “Why do you ask?”

Frank took a sip of the soup from the mug and shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just strange you know, meeting someone and not seeing them.”

“Must be,” she commented absently.

She didn’t move away, so Frank decided to push his luck a little farther. “So you and Red…? What are you? Friends? Lovers?”

“Friends.” The reply came too quickly, and even blind, Frank saw through it for what it was.

“Women love that guy for some reason, don’t you?” he asked, slightly amused. “I mean, he’s pretty enough, I guess.”

That earned him a laugh. “Pretty? I don’t think pretty is the word I’d use for it.”

“So what would you use?” he prompted.

“Good looking. Handsome. Hot. Take your pick. Any of those are more accurate than _pretty_ ,” she said with a touch of laughter still in her smokey voice. “Pretty makes him sound delicate, and I can assure you he’s anything but.”

“So I’m figuring out.” Frank reached for the coffee table and made sure he got the mug the whole way on it before releasing the handle. “Hyped up senses and all, I still can’t imagine how he does what he does...”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that the less you try to figure it out and just accept that he just _can,_ the easier the whole thing is to swallow. Done with your soup?”

Frank nodded and listened as she cleaned up in the kitchen. “Thanks for patching my ass up and making me dinner.”

A husky chuckle sounded from behind the sink. “Well, you’re luckier than most. Usually the fun ends after I patch them up. Anyway, you may want to try and hit me again when I change your bandages because it’s going to hurt like hell.”

It turned out, Claire wasn’t lying. Putting the drops in his eyes felt like pouring hot sauce on them. No matter how hard he tried to push through it and keep his eyes open, he found himself blinking with tears streaming down his face. He’d take being kicked in the balls over doing that again anytime, but it wasn’t like he was going to have much choice. By the time Claire replaced the gauze, his whole face hurt. She wiped at his cheeks lightly with a towel.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re taking that much better than any patient I’ve ever had. You can rest assured in that part of your masculinity,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Frank rewarded her with a forced smile. “Wasn’t so bad.”

“I brought some sleeping pills for you. I thought it might help,” she offered.

“I don’t need them,” he blurted out rougher than he’d intended. Taking a deep breath, he amended his approach. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll have any trouble. I’m wiped out.”

“Okay,” she agreed lightly, “but I’ll leave the bottle right on the nightstand in case you change your mind.”


	2. Chapter 2

The realization that Matt didn’t want to go back to his apartment hit him hard that night. He sat on the rooftop of his building for nearly an hour listening to the city around him, looking for an excuse to go back out. He knew if he tried hard enough that he’d find one, but ultimately decided that it was better to own up to the fact that he was stalling. From below, he could hear Frank’s heartbeat and breathing—neither of which indicated he was asleep. The last thing Matt wanted to do was go in that apartment and talk to Frank about being blind or give him anymore blindness-101 pointers. As much as he lived with his blindness, Matt hated facing the fact that a portion of his identity as a blind man _was_ a sham in a roundabout way. The feeling of “faking it” that had been with him since Foggy first found out about his powers had loomed high for months now. It was true enough that if he was focused, he could maneuver the city without his cane and dodge people and obstacles in his way without feeling his way, but the crux of it was that it took an amount of effort to do it all that it almost was a relief to just let himself be who he was—a blind man. He’d never been able to explain that part fully to Foggy, and he idly wondered if he should even try with Frank. At that moment, getting his ass kicked by ninjas sounded more appealing than going down the stairs into his living room. He heaved a sigh and headed inside.

Frank’s body snapped to attention the moment the door opened and Matt’s feet hit the stairs. Instantly, Matt felt guilty all over for putting the man on edge. “It’s me, Frank,” he called.

The man sitting up at the edge of Matt’s bed relaxed only marginally. His muscles were still taught and his heart rate elevated. “Figured it was,” he snorted. “Claire left a few hours ago...at least, I think it was a few hours ago. What time is it?”

“Reach over to the nightstand. The clock there will tell you the time if you hit the button,” Matt explained. He didn’t actually know the time himself. Wearing a watch under his suit wasn’t practical and there weren’t many audible clocks on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Three twenty-seven A.M.,” a mechanical voice announced.

“Neat gadget,” Frank commented, stifling a loud yawn. “You were out there kicking ass for quite a while. Anyone I need to deal with once I get my eyes back?”

Matt let out a bark of laughter. “Not a chance. Besides, it was mostly the kind of shit you wouldn’t concern yourself with.”

“What wouldn’t I _concern_ myself with, Red?” The bitterness in Frank’s voice was a bit surprising, but not too much so. Matt was beginning to realize that Frank was maybe more complicated than he’d anticipated.

“There was a hold up at a bodega down the block, some junkie tried to break into a church, there was a _customer_ who didn’t appreciate the prostitute he’d hired setting limits on what she would do… You know, Frank, the usual stuff,” Matt said with a bit of a shrug.

“And you think I don’t care about that shit happening out there?” the fugitive demanded.

Matt couldn’t stop the sarcastic snort that bubbled up. “I think it’s a miracle for the petty criminals everywhere that you don’t seem to care about them, Frank. This city needs less bodies with bullet holes in them, not more.”

Frank was silent for a long time, and Matt wasn’t sorry for it. He didn’t wait around for a response.

He busied himself getting out of his suit and putting it back in its usual place. It felt strange stripping down to his boxers in front of another man—who wasn’t his roommate or best friend—even if said man was also blind. He shoved the costume in the box he kept it in and pulled on a hoodie for good measure just because. Murmuring that he was going to get a shower, Matt wasted no time putting a closed door between himself and Frank. The thinly constructed door did little to block out the sounds and scents of the other man, but somehow the separation made Matt feel just a bit more comfortable.

The hot water flowing over his skin in the shower felt heavenly. Despite his extra sensitivity, Matt loved to turn the temperature to near boiling. The heat did wonders to relax his tense muscles and rinse off the stench of his own blood and sweat along with whatever else had gotten onto him in the course of a night. He leaned against the tile wall, trying to clear his head. Usually the sound of the water was enough to drown out whatever thoughts were swirling in his skull, but having Frank in his home changed that. Even in his shower—which was usually the closest thing to a happy place as Matt had—he couldn’t stop thinking about his unwanted house guest or the circumstances surrounding his stay. In the end, he cut off the water sullenly and gave up on any attempt to relax. He highly doubted that he’d feel at peace until Frank was able to see well enough to be dropped off to the police.

When he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, he found Frank had moved to the couch. “I’ll take the couch tonight, Red. You have to feel like shit.”

“I’ll be fine on the couch. You’re the one healing,” Matt said, not feeling like explaining that he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep with two nights worth of Frank’s scent in his sheets. The fact that he _did_ feel like shit was neither here nor there.

Frank let out a dark chuckle. “And what about you, Red? When do you heal? I got a nice long rest in the hospital and in a cell during the trial, but you were out there getting your ass half beat to death the whole time, weren’t you?”

“Don’t act like you care, Frank,” Matt sighed.

“So what, you’re allowed to give a shit about me, but ain’t allowed to do the same?” Frank asked with that signature smirk of his hanging in his voice. “Last I checked, you don’t get to call the shots on who gives a damn about you. Lay your ass down on the bed and get some shut eye—one of us should anyway.”

Matt bit his lip to stop himself from pointing out that he hadn’t had a whole hell of a lot of sleep since they’d first met. Instead, he crossed the room and snagged the pillow Frank had brought with him to the couch. “Bed’s big enough for two.”

The grunt of agreement that came from the other man was enough of an answer. Matt was thankful that there wasn’t any comment about the two of them crawling into the sack together to follow—though knowing Frank it wasn’t far from his mind.

Matt waited until Frank was situated to slide in under the covers beside him. It felt strange to have another body in this bed with him. After Elektra, Matt had splurged and bought a new mattress and sheets. The scent of her had been so ingrained in the fibers that he couldn’t bring himself to sleep there. He was grateful to have made the purchase now because he didn’t think he could stand the scents of Frank and Elektra mingling together. Rolling to his side, he tried to banish the wayward thought.

Suddenly, a wave of laughter sounded from the opposite side of the bed. “I feel like I’m ten years old at a sleep-over again. How about you, Red?”

“Not really. I didn’t get invited to many sleep-overs as a kid,” he admitted absently.

“Really? I thought you’d have always been the popular type.”

Now it was Matt’s turn to laugh out loud. “I was the kid the popular type beat up for lunch money. Then I went blind and you’d have thought I was a leper.”

“Hmm, you coulda fooled me. I had you pegged for the social butterfly,” Frank mused. “The women sure like you well enough.”

“No offense, Frank, but women is the last topic I want to be talking about right now with you. Besides, I thought we were going to try to sleep?” Matt grumbled.

“Fine by me.” Frank cracked his neck in a way that made Matt’s stomach churn before turning over on his side. “Good night, Red.”

“Good night, Frank.”

Usually when Matt tried to sleep, he had to force himself to drown out all of the sounds around him by focusing in on one in particular. Most nights that ended up being the slight drip in the bathroom sink or the sound of the freelance writer downstairs clicking at her keyboard, but that night he found himself lulled by the steady thud of Frank’s heart beside him. There was something comforting about the sound that Matt wouldn’t let himself delve to deep into—after all, Frank would be gone soon. It was with that even sound in his ears that Matt fell asleep.

In the morning, he woke slowly for a change. His mind took a moment to process through the haze that he wasn’t alone in his bed, nor was he still on the same side of the bed that he’d gone to sleep on. He was half-draped over Frank’s chest with one leg across his hips and Frank’s hand firmly placed on Matt’s ass. On the heels of that realization came the fact that both men were hard. Frank’s shaft was nestled lightly along side Matt’s thigh, and Matt’s own was shoved tightly against Frank’s hip. Already thoroughly embarrassed, he tried to slip out from underneath Frank’s arm slowly.

“You are like a god damn heat seeking missile. You know that, Red?” Frank murmured with sleep still roughening the edge of his voice. The effect was sexier than it should have been, and Matt felt a stirring in his gut at the sound.

Any attempts at going unnoticed had obviously failed, and Matt pulled away quickly. “I guess I do now.”

“What? You pissy over a little morning wood?” Frank sounded so damned amused that it almost made Matt want to smile.

“I’ll make breakfast, but then I have to go out for a while,” he said, ignoring the laughter that was still rumbling from the other side of the bed.

“It’s Sunday, isn’t it?” Frank asked, scratching at the thickening scruff on his chin. He reached out to the clock again and hit the button.

“Eleven-nineteen A.M.,” the voice announced.

“A little late for mass, altar boy,” he mused.

“I’m not going to mass,” Matt said, flatly. “If you want to keep eating, one of us should go to the grocery store. Being that you are not only unable to make it out of this apartment without walking into an elevator shaft but also on the top of everyone’s most wanted list, I should probably be the one to go.”

Frank’s reply to Matt’s tirade was nothing more than a low grunt. He moved on to another topic without seeming to think on the fact that he was a wanted criminal for very long. “I know I probably shouldn’t get the bandages wet, but do you think I could clean up? Even I can smell my own stench at this point, so it’s gotta be killing you.”

It would be rude to agree, but also the truth. Matt had actually considered buying new sheets rather than trying to wash away the scent of Frank’s sweat. Even with the clean clothes and deodorant Matt had already given him, Frank smelled nearly as bad the lockers at Fogwell’s used to. Nodding slowly, Matt tried not to cringe at the thought. It took him a moment to realize that at the moment, Frank couldn’t see him either—somehow, he thought Foggy would find that hilarious. “Yeah,” he said aloud, amending his mistake.

Matt helped Frank find everything he’d need in the bathroom, and started the bath water running into his shallow tub. It would be a tight fit but it was easier than trying to keep the bandages dry in the shower and a wipe down probably wouldn’t cut it. Frank’s fingertips rubbed at his beard noisily. “Want me to help you shave?” Matt offered.

“Nah. It’s been a while since I grew a beard,” Frank murmured. “For the record, Red, I look damn good with a beard.”

Matt let out a snort of laughter. “Keep telling yourself that, Frank.”

“You like your men bearded?”

“Just hurry up and get cleaned up,” the lawyer sighed heavily. He didn’t want to talk about his preferences in men—especially not after the way that morning had begun. “I’m going to go make breakfast.”

Frank’s deep laugh followed Matt out of the room. “Aren’t you going to scrub my back for me?”

In the end, it was a miracle that Matt didn’t burn their eggs into oblivion. He found his attention drifting towards the tiny bathroom on the opposite end of the apartment more than he’d like. He could hear the water splashing and the sounds of Frank raking the soapy cloth across his body. As much as Matt would have liked to deny it, the idea of his own hands running down the former Marine’s slick skin was waking the traitor in his pants. This wasn’t the time, he kept telling himself over and over again. Frank was all but dependent on him at the moment, and it wasn’t like the Punisher was someone Matt should be fantasizing about at all...ever. Maybe it was the forbidden element of it that made Matt’s mind keep turning back to that bathroom. All the good intentioned reminders to himself did nothing to stop his thoughts from crossing that proverbial line. Thankfully, Frank was mercifully quick in the bathroom and emerged smelling worlds better only a few minutes later. Sliding the eggs from the skillet onto the last two slices of toast, Matt suddenly felt guilty for being thankful that Frank couldn’t see the effect he had on him at the moment.

“Any special requests for food?” Matt asked, distracting himself.

“Not a picky eater, Red. So long as it ain’t raw fish, I’ll eat it,” Frank replied between bites.

Matt couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from turning up. “The Punisher is afraid of sushi,” he chuckled.

Frank grunted with his mouth full. “Ain’t afraid, Red. You ever cleaned a fish before?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“My old man used to take me fishin’. Thought sitting around watching a line in the water while he drank a few beers was a good way to man me up. He used to make me clean our catch. Trust me, Red, you ever clean a fish and you will understand not wanting to eat the fuckers raw,” Frank assured him.

“I didn’t have fish that wasn’t deep fried and from church basement during lent until I was a teenager,” Matt admitted. “My dad hated fish. I don’t think he would have done fish on Fridays at all if it wasn’t for my grandmother.”

“Old school Irish Catholic?”

“You have no idea,” Matt sighed.

“My grandparents changed their name from ‘Castiglione’ when they emigrated. I think I know a thing or two about old school Catholic.” Frank let out a booming laugh that made Matt feel a sudden warmth. It wasn’t the mocking laughter he’d heard from the vigilante before. This laugh was genuine and kind. It made Frank seem like a real person...it made him even more dangerous.


	3. Chapter 3

The second Red was out the door, Frank listened carefully to the sound of footsteps going down the hall and hitting the stairs until the sound was out of his own range of hearing. He had no idea how far Red’s super ears could stretch, and he was a bit hesitant to put that to the test.

Waiting a good ten minutes, he slunk back into the bathroom to take care of the ‘itch’ that had been bothering him since Red’s body curled up against his the night before. The devil’s body had felt so fucking good up against his. He swore he could feel every inch of that muscled skin that he’d been dying to see. And Red’s ass… Red’s sweet ass had been practically a siren’s call to his hand. He didn’t regret grabbing hold of it while the other man slept. What he did regret was being caught. He’d woke up the second Red had gone completely stiff in his arms. A naturally light sleeper, it roused him just enough that he became aware of Red trying to extract himself from his hold. God damn was Frank sorry that he didn’t have the words in him make Red stay a little longer. He told himself that it was merely the fact that he’d been celibate for well over a year and the fact that he was stuck in the apartment with just the lawyer for company that made the need he felt for the other man’s touch so strong, but even in his own mind it sounded like a fucking lie. Wanting Red was becoming a habit—a habit he needed to break damned quick. He needed to get off. Once he’d done that, he kept telling himself, his need for Red would be gone.

He stepped carefully into the tub and slid off his borrowed sweats and boxers, setting them aside within arm’s reach. Lube would have been nice, and he wouldn’t have even scoffed at Vaseline, given the nature of his situation, but he had to make due with what he had at the moment—spit in in his own palm, to be exact. Giving his throbbing cock a tentative jerk, he leaned his head back and tried to think of anyone other than Red, but the images in his mind wouldn’t come the way he wanted them to. No, instead of Maria’s high, round tits or even the invitingly bared ass of one the guys he’d messed with before marriage, Frank’s mind’s eye went to Red. How he looked in that rumpled, shitty suit of his came to mind first. He could see the stubble that lined the lawyer’s firm jaw and offset those perfect, pink lips of his. God damn, he could imagine those lips around his cock!

“Christ!” Frank roared as he came into his hand.

Wiping the evidence of what he’d just done away with the washcloth Red had given him earlier, Frank turned the hot tap on and let the water wash away his cum. He idly wondered if Red would still be able to smell what he’d done. Either way, it was too late to give a shit about that now. And while he was willing to admit that he had failed miserably at getting his mind off of Red, he couldn’t regret what he’d done. His whole body felt loose and relaxed in a way it hadn’t since finding himself cuffed to Red’s bed.

Frank made his way out towards the living room when his shoulder cracked against the half open bathroom door. Biting back and oath, he rubbed at the sore spot and clenched his jaw tightly. His first instinct was to put his fist through the cheap particle board door, but he took a slow, steady breath and re-oriented himself in the space. He felt like a bull crashing through a fucking china shop each time he moved at anything other than a snail’s speed. Every time he got frustrated, it reminded him that Red had gone through this as a child with the knowledge that he’d never see again. How fucking weak would he be if he couldn’t handle it for a few days?

The thought of a kid going blind felt like a stone in Frank’s gut. As a father, he could only imagine what it must be like to see something like that. He idly wondered how Red’s old man had handled it. Had he tried to coddle his son? Somehow, Frank didn’t think so. He’d seen the difference between kids that had helicopter parents and the ones that were brought up taking care of themselves in the Marines. Red had mentioned that he was a latch-key kid, and Frank didn’t doubt that changed too much after losing his sight. He had the innate stubbornness to him that came from having to depend only on yourself. Even with the hyped-up senses Red had, Frank didn’t discount the guts that it had probably taken for the kid to get back on his feet. Telling Red that he respected his guts would probably earn Frank a billy club upside the head, though. Murdock wasn’t the kind of man that wanted or needed pity for his disability or accolades for overcoming it.

Red took a hell of a lot longer at the grocery store than Frank had anticipated. He touched the talking clock for what felt like the millionth time, confirming that it had been well over an hour, and frowned. It was irrational to worry that the guy had been ambushed by ninjas or some shit on his way to the store, but Frank couldn’t help the little bit of anxiety that bubbled up inside of him. By the time Red unlocked the door with the scent of pizza following him to the counter, Frank had managed to think of at least fifty scenarios of shit going south.

“I took a guess that you’d be okay with pepperoni and sausage pizza for a late lunch,” Red said amid the sound of crinkling paper bags.

“I told you; I’m not picky,” Frank grumbled, shuffling forward. “Where’d you stop for pizza? Cleveland?”

“The end of the block,” Red admitted. There was a subtle sound of a plate hitting the counter followed by water filling a glass. “I came up the stairs right after the grocery store, and… I thought I’d give you a little privacy.”

“Fuck.” Frank accepted the plate and located the glass that Red had set in the ‘usual’ spot. “Sorry about that. I thought you’d take longer.”

“Don’t apologize. The owner’s known me since I was a kid. He let’s me email over my list and has it waiting for me. The store’s on the same block, too. You couldn’t have known,” Red’s voice was matter of fact, with none of the mocking that Frank would have expected.

Frank listened to Red putting away groceries as he ate. Knowing what he did from his “lessons” the day before, he knew that everything was kept in very specific places and that Red used braille labels for cans and jars—things that weren’t easily identifiable by touch or scent. Seemed like a pain in the ass to Frank, but he supposed it was better than opening a can of sauerkraut and expecting soup. Once he was finished, Red pulled out the chair next to Frank and ate his own meal.

“I grabbed a couple of movies from Redbox on my way back, too,” he said between bites. “I know you have to be ready to climb the walls by now.”

“Gettin’ close,” Frank acknowledged. “Been a long time since I had this much down time. What movies did you get?”

“Imitation Game’ and ‘Concussion.’ Action movies are a pain in the ass to follow through narration, and the pickings were kind of slim to begin with,” Red explained, sounding somewhat annoyed by the whole thing. “The girl from the grocery store recommended these two.”

“Fine by me,” Frank murmured.

After Matt put away the leftover pizza and cleared their plates, they settled in on the couch with Red’s laptop on the coffee table. It turned out that Red had put in ‘Concussion’ first, and Frank had been honest about not caring what movie they “watched.” Between being mildly embarrassed that Red had caught him jerking off and being bored out of his fucking mind, he wasn’t opposed to any distractions he could get. The movie wasn’t half bad, it turned out. Frank wasn’t really a movie guy either way, but it also just felt nice to sit next to Red for a minute without having to try to think up something to say. He ended up paying nearly as much attention to the man beside him as he did the movie playing in the back ground. At some point, the cadence of Red’s breath changed beside him. It took Frank a minute to realize that the other man had fallen asleep.

The image of Red sacked out on the couch beside him brought a smile to Frank’s lips, but he managed not to laugh. It didn’t surprise him that Red was still exhausted. Frank ran on fumes more often than he did a full tank, and he imagined that being Daredevil was even worse. Where Frank allowed himself days, sometimes even a week between targets to set things up, Red was charging across the rooftops pretty much nightly. Keeping as quiet as possible and not moving, Frank let the vigilante get some sleep. He wasn’t sure how long Red had been sleeping when the cellphone on the coffee table began to announce, “Karen! Karen! Karen!”

Red groaned and silenced the device without answering it.

“Don’t feel like talkin’ to your girlfriend?” Frank asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” There was an edge to Red’s voice that made it clear not to push any further. Then again, when had Frank ever made a smart decision?

“She seemed to care an awful lot of you, if she wasn’t your girlfriend,” he goaded.

Red got off the couch, and his steps headed towards the kitchen. “Well, she shouldn’t.”

“You sound like a damn broken record with that bit. Don’t think that’s your choice to make, Red,” Frank said with a frown. “The other one—Claire seems to care just as much if not more. Suppose you’re the type to leave a trail of broken hearts.”

“Better a trail of broken hearts than dead bodies,” Red bit back.

At first, Frank thought a lecture was going to be coming. It would have been damned easy for Red to turn this one around on Frank, but he didn’t. He was quiet for a long time before Frank put the puzzle together in his mind. “You mean like the woman on the roof?”

“Elektra is the last thing I want to talk to you about, Frank. Ever.”

Frank nodded slowly. He could still remember Red holding the dark haired woman in his arms as she died. It had been a safe bet that they were close, but he hadn’t thought about just how close, not when he knew about Matt and Karen. Guess he called that one wrong after all. Frank took a long breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time to save her, Red.”

“It’s not your fault, Frank.” Red’s voice shook just a little. No, he didn’t blame Frank for what happened. He blamed himself, and there was nothing anyone could say to change that so Frank didn’t bother trying.

The rest of the evening was spent with the second movie playing in the background, but the current had changed in the room. When Red said he was going out after they ate dinner, Frank couldn’t help but think that some poor schmuck was about to get an ass beating of a lifetime—not that Frank felt especially sorry for that. He’d be a hypocrite to say that he didn’t use a similar coping mechanism for his own shit. His estimation that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was a half step away from crossing the line still proved true in his mind. He just hoped that step never happened—for Red’s sake. Though Frank had tried to drag him across that line once, he saw things a little clearer after getting to know the man. Frank didn’t mind the blood on his hands. He didn’t think about what he did more than five minutes after, but something told him that Red remembered what he did in that clown suit. No, Red wouldn’t be the type to blow someone’s brains all over the wall and then go eat a sandwich. It would eat him alive.

With Red gone, Frank paced in front of the windows like a fucking caged animal. His whole body felt alive with restless energy that he had no real way to get rid of. Frank had never been the kind of guy to sit on his ass day in day out. Maria used to tease him about having ants in his pants. Where some Marines took days if not a couple weeks to be lazy after a deployment, Frank was usually up and running the very next day after getting home. The first time he got back, Maria had been about ready to pop with Lisa, and Frank woke up the morning after getting home at almost five in the morning with a fire under his ass to get the crib put together. Now even if he wanted to, Frank wasn’t exactly in a position to go around Red’s place looking for shit to fix, but his muscles ached for some sort of activity.

With the lack of anything else to do, Frank dropped to his hands and knees on the floor and began doing pushups. It wasn’t much, but at least it was some kind of physical exertion. He didn’t bother counting as he banged out one perfectly formed pushup after another. His arms began to feel like jello at some point, and he rolled to his back to start on crunches. He let himself rest between sets just a bit then started all over again. Maybe when Red came back he’d ask if he had any free weights handy. It wouldn’t surprise him if Red had some dumbbells stashed in the closet.

Much like the night before, there was a knock at the door sometime late in the evening followed by Claire letting him know she was coming in. Frank hadn’t been expecting the woman, but at least this time he didn’t nearly piss himself when she showed up.

“Pushups? Really? God, you and Matt have no clue how to take it easy,” she drawled.

“Got bored,” Frank murmured, wiping his hands on his borrowed jeans. “What brings you here?”

“Making sure there were no bodies in Matt’s apartment—yours specifically.”  
Frank grinned. “Don’t you think I could take him?”

Claire laughed. “Not blind and not without your guns. I didn’t get the whole story, but I know that night at the hospital he would have kicked your ass if you hadn’t concussed him senseless with that bullet to his mask.”

“I almost forgot about that,” Frank muttered wryly. It was the truth actually. He and Red had come to blows what maybe a dozen, dozen and a half times so far? They were evenly matched in someways and in others, not so much. Claire’s estimation that guns played a big part in most of Frank’s wins was a fair one. Though he’d only out and out shot Red that one time, Frank wasn’t above using the butt of a rifle or the loud bang of a shot gun to his advantage. He was a strategist first and foremost. Red was a martial artist—a born fighter. Win or lose, Frank didn’t feel to ashamed either way.

“I’m sure Matt hasn’t,” the nurse replied. There was a stiffness in her voice that wiped away any nostalgia Frank may have had for the event.

“Was it bad?” Frank demanded roughly. He usually didn’t feel too guilty about any of the blows he landed on the vigilante, but his gut told him he _should_ for that one.

“Forget I said anything.”

“Easier said than done,” he growled.

“That one is something you should ask Matt. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Claire let out the kind of sigh that Frank was beginning to think as her trademark. “Anyway, I offered to take care of your drops and bandages.”

“What are we waiting for then? That’s more fun than I’ve had in quite a while,” Frank said sarcastically.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Matt’s body ached so badly that he had to take a few breaks on his way back to his apartment. In hindsight, taking on an entire gang on his own may have been a bit of a stretch. He’d done it before with the Russians and the Dogs of Hell, but both times had been spontaneous—almost desperate. This was more or less something he jumped into just to take his mind off of his current shitty predicament. It was a stupid move. He should have planned things through better, not just inserted himself in the middle of a million dollar drug exchange. No doubt Frank would call him out on his stupidity or demand to know who all managed to get away, but he’d be damned if he told Frank.

Crashing into a corner on one of the rooftops a few blocks from his building, Matt had to admit that he was hurt more than just a little. He stripped off his gloves and investigated what he could reach of the gash along his left lower back. It was deep and bleeding freely. Defeat roiled in his gut as he realized that it would need stitches that he couldn’t manage on his own. With no other option, he grabbed his burner phone from the small pouch he kept it in. If he was lucky, Claire would be able to meet him at the apartment.

“Hey,” Claire answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” Matt managed to murmur back through the pain. “Where are you?”

“A block from your apartment. I just stopped by to take care of Frank. Are you okay?”

“I’ve been worse,” he answered cryptically. The last thing he needed was a lecture before the stitching even started. “Think you can turn around?”  
“Just did,” she told him in a clipped voice. “No bullshit, Matt. How bad is it?”

“Knife wound to my back. About six inches long, half inch or so deep. I managed to dodge the worst of it,” he assured her, pulling himself up to his feet unsteadily. “It should take me about twenty minutes to get back to the apartment.”

It was over half an hour when Matt managed to close that meager distance. Even from the rooftop, he could hear two worried heartbeats from below. Claire was pacing by the window while Frank tapped his heel on the couch. The reactions shouldn’t be as reassuring to Matt as they were, but the fact that they both cared hit him hard in a hidden place in side. He slipped inside the roof hatch and made his way down the stairs.

“Thank god,” Claire breathed as she rushed to duck beneath his shoulder. He let her take on some of his weight. “And here I thought we were going to break our old record of two weeks between you calling me, half-dead.”

“I’m not half-dead,” Matt protested weakly. “Not even a quarter.”  
Frank chuckled from his spot on the couch. “Fuck, Red, you really are way more Catholic than I ever was.”

Matt smiled despite the pain of Claire stripping off the top half of his suit. Her gloved fingers prodded at the wound lightly. “Lay on your stomach,” she commanded. “Frank, you’re going to have to move.”

For the next few minutes, Matt lay perfectly still, willing his mind to go elsewhere as Claire worked the sutures through his flesh. There were times when extra sensitivity had its distinct downfalls. Despite some people’s insistence that he must be used to or must love pain, that was far from the truth. He was just damned good at pushing it so far down inside that it never saw the light of day. Claire pulled a little too roughly on one of the middle stitches, and Matt couldn’t help the slight groan that escaped his lips. Suddenly, a pair of hands were groping for his at the end of the couch. Matt had been so caught up that he hadn’t even realized that Frank stayed close, but as hardened digits covered his own, he was suddenly glad. Frank stayed there until Claire announced she was all done.

“Can you two do me a favor and stay healthy for a week or two?” she muttered as she taped down a gauze pad to Matt’s back.

“Well, according to Red here, I’m not goin’ anywhere for a while,” Frank quipped, finally pulling his hands away. “Until he puts my ass in a jail cell, that is.”

Claire buried her face in her hand. “I’m going home and getting some sleep. I just don’t have the energy for this right now.”

“Thank you, Claire,” Matt said reaching out for her hand. She slipped her fingers in his and squeezed. It was the kind of gesture that used to be fraught with tension between them, but only friendship remained.

“Get some rest.”

Frank was oddly quiet as Matt finished stripping and cleaning up. He wasn’t fidgeting or anything like that, but it was obvious that something was bothering the man. Matt highly doubted a minor knife wound was enough to get this far under the Punisher’s skin, and he didn’t exactly have the energy to figure it out. “What’s wrong?” he asked, gingerly sliding beneath the sheets.

“What makes you think somethin’s wrong?” Frank countered as he took his own spot on the other side of the bed.

“For starters, you had a lot of wide open opportunities to take a dig at me and you didn’t,” Matt drawled. “That and you’re quiet.”

Frank propped himself up on his elbow, facing Matt. If either of them could see, they’d probably be eye to eye. “Somethin’ happened after I ricocheted that bullet off your noggin’, didn’t it?”

“What gave you that impression?”

“Claire said something that made me think, is all. She didn’t give much away, but I had a hunch. Guessing since you don’t want to talk about it that it was damn bad,” Frank mused.

Matt gritted his teeth against the memory. “Bad” didn’t cover what those three hours had been like. Being encased in silence to match his never ending sightlessness had been pure hell. Anyone could have come into that room, and he’d have been helpless to stop them. Without his hearing, he’d been unable to gauge much of anything or “see” in his usual way. It wasn’t just that present moment either, there had been the thought that this could have been a reality for the rest of his life that circled through his mind. It clouded everything—his thoughts, his judgment, his ability to even pick himself off the floor. Though he couldn’t hear himself screaming, he knew he had. What was worse, Matt now carried that fear with him. He knew that if it happened once, there was always a chance that it could happen again. And what if it did at the wrong moment? He didn’t know how to convey any of that to Frank though.

“My hearing went a bit crazy for a while is all,” he lied when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Define crazy,” Frank goaded stubbornly. Like the pit bull Matt had found back at his hideout, once his jaws were set into something, chances of prying them open were slim.

“I lost my hearing for a couple of hours, but it came back and life moved on. Now can we?”

“Jesus, Red.” Frank raked a hand through his beard. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“Of all the things you’ve done, _that_ is what you actually apologize for?” Matt cried incredulously.

Frank chuckled. “Only thing I feel genuinely sorry for.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Matt half-sighed, half-laughed.

“Red, I just want you to know that it’s never been my intent to see you dead or seriously hurt. I want you out of the way or on my side, sure, but I never want you gone.” Frank’s voice was low and serious again. “Sometimes, I think you’re the last good person in the world. Or at least, the last really good one that I know. And if something happened to you...”

“I can handle myself, Frank,” Matt cut in.

“I know you can, Red, but that doesn’t mean that something won’t go to hell. You and I both know what kind of risks we’re taking out there. Don’t try to deny that,” Frank scoffed. “All it takes is one bullet. Can you tell me in the middle of a fight that you’d be able to hear a sniper setting up a shot a mile out? And can you tell me that you’ve never fought someone that could take you out before?”  
Matt gritted his teeth. “No, I can’t. But why all this sudden concern for my well being?”

“You think it’s sudden?” Frank asked.

 _Wasn’t it though?_ Matt mused silently. He smashed the pillow beneath his chin roughly and tried not to think of that night of the boat. The man beside him was the Punisher for fuck’s sake, he wasn’t supposed to give a shit about what happened to anyone—least of all Matt. Frank Castle, the real human being was getting dangerous in a way that Matt never imagined he would. When Frank cared… When Frank talked like someone with a soul… Matt wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

“Maybe it’s not,” Matt murmured screwing his eyes shut in a childish attempt to force himself to sleep. “Good night, Frank.”

In the morning, the first thing Matt noticed was the cold spot where Frank had been last night. It takes a minute for his ears to fully wake up and catch the sound of slight grunting as Frank did push ups by the window. He listened for a minute with a smile on his face. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Frank would find the lack of physical activity just as hard to take as the lack of mental activity. Frank wasn’t the type that could curl in with a book, even if he wanted to. Wincing Matt pulled himself out of bed and padded over to where Frank worked.

Frank must have heard Matt’s footsteps because he stopped and pushed himself onto his knees. “If you hadn’t been snoring loud enough to shake the bricks, I would have thought you were dead last night, Red.”

“If the Punisher can’t finish me off, do you think I’d really let some punk with a knife do the job?” Matt joked.

“Thought I explained...”

“You did,” Matt cut in quickly. “I was joking.”

“Hmmm...” Frank stood and made his way over to the table. Matt was impressed that he did it complete with remembering to keep one hand out and ready like he’d been taught. “Guess it’s harder to tell without lookin’ at someone, isn’t it?”

“It is, but the good news for you is that you’ll be getting your eyes back very soon.” Matt laid a hand gently on Frank’s shoulder. It always amazed him how solid feeling Frank was beneath Matt’s fingers. Without warning, Frank’s hand suddenly laid atop his own, forcing the air out of Matt’s lungs. Frank’s fingers wound round Matt’s this was more than just a casual touch.

“You know I’m pretty sure the Avengers would have dropped my ass off to the authorities or just tossed me in a hole so deep it didn’t matter if I could see or not. Why are you doing this, Red? Why care? You have since we first met, and god knows, I’ve given you shit for reasons,” Frank admitted.

“Everyone deserves a chance to be better, to be forgiven. I know you don’t believe that, but I do,” Matt said softly. Against his own will, he’d moved closer to Frank until their breath mingled. He could smell the left over pizza Frank had eaten for breakfast as well as the minty scent of toothpaste, but beneath it all, Matt smelled arousal. The mixture was doing things to him.

“You almost make me wish I did believe you.”

What Matt did next was possibly the dumbest thing he’d done in his life—which was saying something. He leaned in and kissed Frank. At first, the larger man paused, caught off guard by the act, but then he looped an arm around Matt’s hips. His fingertips narrowly missed Matt’s still aching wound as they made their way to his ass. Matt’s body seemed to have its own memory of the last time they touched like this, and he found himself leaning in, his lips begging for more. He was completely lost in the feel and taste of Frank.

Suddenly a jolt of pain broke the moment as Frank tried to wrap his other arm around Matt. “Fuck! Sorry, Red,” Frank murmured, breaking the kiss. He relaxed his hold on Matt without entirely letting go. “We should stop before those stitches break. You may not be willing to kill me, but I have a feeling Claire would be.”

“I need to get ready for work,” Matt managed to say as reality came crashing back. He put distance between the two of them, not particularly trusting himself.

After a hasty escape, Matt found himself sitting at his desk in his all but abandoned office. These days he picked a few cases here and there—enough to keep himself moderately busy during the day. The money Elektra left ensured that he could pay the bills whether the firm pulled a profit or not. His pride pricked at the fact that without it, he’d have closed his doors long ago, but his pride was just another causality of his nightly crusades. Matt ran his fingers over the same line of text for probably the hundredth time as he tried not to think about all of the things he’d given up. He’d lost too much to simply pretend it didn’t hurt.

And he knew that Frank’s upcoming departure would hurt, too.

Once again, Matt found himself hurtling towards falling for someone who he couldn’t keep in his life. Frank belonged in a jail cell; whatever his feelings for the man were, Matt couldn’t deny that. Matt hadn’t been lying when he said that he’d turn Frank in. And even if Matt let him go, what then? It wasn’t like Frank could simply settle down in Hell’s Kitchen. Even if he were to give up his vendetta against the world—an idea so absurd that Matt couldn’t even entertain it—he would get caught or killed. There was no shortage of people looking to see the Punisher brought down, be it in a coffin or in a prison. The hopelessness creeping in around the edges reminded Matt of how he’d felt knowing that he and Elektra weren’t going to make it off that rooftop. For as much as he loved her, and for as much as he meant every word about running with her, in his heart he’d known it had been an impossible outcome. Any dream of being happy with Frank would certainly end the same.

Matt buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his temples furiously. There wasn’t a clear way out of the mess he’d made of his life. You’d think he would have made his peace with being eternally lost in one quagmire or another, but he hadn’t. He double checked his schedule to make sure that he had a clear few hours in the day and headed to the only place he could count on getting any sort of clarity.

The familiar scent of incense and wood-polish immediately hit Matt’s nose as he walked through the doors to the church. He could clearly hear the man in the confessional talking about how he was cheating on his wife, and he forced his ears to find another sound to land on. An old woman was knelt down, lighting candles in front of him, as he bowed his head and crossed himself before sliding into one of the pews. Her voice carried little weight behind it as she wished a happy birthday to someone who’d passed. The grief in her words was well-worn—maybe even older than he was. He listened as she made her way shakily back to her feet with the help of a cane. On her way by, Matt couldn’t help but smell the scent of decay and medicine. Her heartbeat was weak and her lungs were already suffering after less than a dozen steps. The woman was another reminder of his limitations as Daredevil. No amount of dodging fists or kicking away guns could save her. She was in God’s hands. Matt just wished he knew that God was as kind as he’d believed He was as a kid.

From inside the confines of the booth, Matt heard Father Lanthom’s voice offering the same old absolutions. He waited patiently in the pew for the man to leave and for the priest to make his way over to where he sat. The priest let out a slight sigh as he slid into the seat that Matt had left beside him.

“I was wondering if I’d see you again anytime soon,” he said in his usual good-natured tones. Father Lanthom’s voice was one of those things that Matt had come to rely on over last year and a half. That voice was always steady and always kind, even if it wasn’t always giving the advice that Matt had hoped to hear. Matt wondered if this was what it felt like to have a grandfatherly figure—a wise older man to guide you and point you to the best course.

“I’ve been busy,” Matt lied.

Father Lanthom chuckled. “With this city, you and I could work eight days a week and barely make a dent. I suppose, if you’re the pessimistic sort, it would even make what we do sound foolish.”

“You’re not pulling any punches today, father,” Matt said with a grin that he couldn’t hold back.

“Did you want me to?” The priest crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the seat. “Something tells me that you aren’t here for a latte.”

“I’m doing something very illegal, father, and probably even more unethical, and I can’t find it in me to fully regret what I’m doing,” Matt said slowly. “I’ve opened up my home to an injured man. That in itself almost sounds laudable, but this man…he’s done things that are beyond reprehensible in the name of vengeance. I should just drop him off for the police to deal with, but if I do, something horrible could happen...”

A rough sound caught in the priest’s throat. “ _Him,_ eh? I think I know exactly who you mean, but if you don’t want to tell me for certain… I’ll go along. So by helping this man, you are feeling responsible for both what he’s done in the past and what he could do in the future in any given scenario?”

“Partly,” Matt confirmed. It didn’t surprise him that Father Lanthom would see that part of the dilemma right of the bat. The rest was more complicated, and Matt had a hard time getting his tongue to form the words. “The worst part is the longer I’m around him, the more I see the humanity in him. I don’t know if you remember when I was contemplating…well, when I told you that someone horrible still had someone that cared about him?”

“Ah, now I see where this is going,” Father Lanthom said. There was not judgment in his voice, though God knew there was enough that Matt told him that deserved it. “Now, you see yourself in a place where you have come to care for someone with less than angelic intent.”

“It’s not the first time,” Matt muttered bitterly. He hadn’t told the priest anything about Elektra, and doing so now wouldn’t serve much purpose.

“I’m sure it’s not. But this is the first time you’ve truly seen a killer become a man before your eyes... It’s giving you a different perspective on the matter.” The older man sounded sympathetic.

“I can’t make him regret what he’s done. I can’t stop him—not without killing him or doing something that would lead to his death...” Matt’s voice fell off, but Father Lanthom didn’t need to hear the rest.

“And you can’t save him.”

Matt bit his lip until he tasted blood. “I can’t.”

“Wanting to protect someone from themselves isn’t a new concept, Matthew. You’re not the first person to have front row seats to a loved one’s self-destruction. Believe me, as a priest, I see it too often. It’s not wrong to want to lead those you love to safety, but you have to realize that Devil of Hell’s Kitchen or not, it’s not your job to save everyone,” Father Lanthom said sadly.

“And what do I do in the meantime?” Matt asked blandly.

“Love him as God calls us to love one another. Try your best to be an example of hope. In the meantime, pray on it. I think you’ll find your heart knows what to do, Matthew.” The priest laid and hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Despite the horns you wear, you are a good man. You’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”

Matt managed to finish the rest of his day without completely ignoring his work. By the time he was ready to leave, he hadn’t come to any great conclusions about what to do with Frank, but he did feel marginally better. He walked the path to his apartment without paying much attention to anything, happy to let his feet and cane guide him. His had just hit the first step when his phone in his pocket began to call out to him.

“Karen! Karen! Karen!” the device said. Once again, he swiped to ignore the call. It was at least the hundredth since he’d confessed his alter-ego to her. Sometimes, when it was related to his nightlife, she would leave a message if she thought she knew something pertinent, but more often than not, she just waited a few days before trying back. Matt felt bad for ignoring her, but he didn’t have it in him to add another tangle into his current web.

Even from the end of the hall, Matt could hear the droning narration of an audiobook playing through Frank’s earbuds. He was getting close to the end of a fantasy novel that Matt had been meaning to listen to for more than a few years—one that Foggy had recommended a lifetime ago. It didn’t surprise Matt when Frank fumbled for the stop button as soon as the door opened.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Frank wasn’t surprised that Red pulled away from him like someone that had touched a hot skillet. They both knew where this was heading, and they both knew they shouldn’t go there. It wouldn’t end well. But Frank couldn’t help being disappointed by the distance that came between them. They still talked to fill the silence when it got too long. Red still offered a helping hand—usually before Frank even realized he was going to need it. The changes came in the stilted way they acted. Frank had taken up residence on the couch at night, and Red didn’t argue. Rather than handing Frank his pills, Red put them in a Dixie cup by his meals.

The only real reprieve Frank got from the constant tension in the apartment came from Claire. She’d volunteered to take over Frank’s eye drops and bandage changes. Mostly, she claimed it was because Frank whined about how rough Red was, but Frank had a suspicion that she did it more for Red’s sake than his. After one change a week since Frank had found himself cuffed to the bed, Claire made an announcement that changed everything.

“At this rate, I’d say you’ll be ready to ditch the bandages in a day or two,” she said, peeling of her gloves with a snapping sound.

“Thought I was in for two to three weeks?” Frank demanded.

Claire snorted. “I was being cautious with my estimate. You guys typically push for half of the time you actually need, so I tend to round up a bit.”

“Jesus,” Frank muttered. “Red know you do that?”

“He’s a smart guy. I think he’s figured it out by now.”

Frank shook his head and laughed. The idea of seeing again made him almost giddy. “How do we know for sure if they can come off?”

“We take them off and find out what you can see,” she said dryly. “Tomorrow night we can give it a go.”

If time in the dark had crawled by before, now they moved at the speed of paint drying on humid day. He was anxious to find out if Red’s apartment windows really did face a brick wall like he assumed they did. Hell, Frank would be happy to see a steaming pile of dog shit at this point. What he really was dying to see, though, was Red. Much as he wanted to deny it, he’d been aching for the sight of him. He wanted to see Red more than he wanted to see the sky or even at the sun. By the time Claire came back the following night, Frank’s whole body was humming with anticipation.

“Sure, you don’t want to wait a couple more days?” she teased, as he sat on the john tapping his foot impatiently.

“Funny,” he drawled.

“I’ve got a nightlight plugged in to ease your eyes into this, but still try to open your eyes slowly,” she told him as she cut through the gauze holding the pads in place.

For more than a week he’d been thrust into total darkness. The only light he’d been able to see had come in painful star-bursts when Claire had him hold his eyes open for the drops. Now, he could actually see a faint hint of light peeking through his closed eyelids. It was enough that he almost gave into the temptation to open them all at once, but he he took his time. At first, he saw only a dark gray where he’d once seen nothing but black then a blurred form began to take shape in front of his eyes.

“You’re kind of a blurry blob right now, doc,” he muttered. He didn’t bother to add that seeing a blurry blob was a fucking far cry better than what he’d seen of her previously or that the sight of light at all made his knees weak..

“Good,” Claire said with a sigh of relief. “I’m going to turn the main light on. I want you to close your eyes at first for this too. We need to keep things slow.”

Reluctantly, Frank shut his eyes and waited for the clicking of the light switch. Much like before, he could tell even without fully opening his eyes that there was a light before him. This time when he finally got them open, he was assailed by an onslaught of bright light and color that had him shielding his eyes with his arm. “Fuck!”

“Okay, let’s get you bandaged back up,” Claire said calmly.

“NO!” Frank burst out. “Let me try again...please.”

“Knock yourself out, tough guy,” she mumbled.

He dropped his arm and forced his eyes to open up. At first, it was painful, but then his eyes started to adjust just a little. He couldn’t see any real detail, but he could see that Claire’s skin was a warm brown and the shirt she was wearing was blue. Recounting what he saw, he stood and looked around the small room.

“That’s all good news, Frank, but I need to cover your eyes again. You’re still really light sensitive. Maybe tomorrow night we can take them off and leave them off. You’ll need dark glasses in day light for a few days, but things should get sharper as you go,” she explained slowly, urging him to sit back down. “I know it sucks, but the bandages have to go back on for now. One more day.”

Frank slumped back onto the toilet seat and nodded. “You tell Red we were doing this tonight?”

“Nope,” Claire replied curtly. “Honestly, I think he’s been torn up about this more than you have been. It brings back memories, probably.”

“No use telling him until I’m good to go then,” Frank mused.

“You should be mostly good tomorrow,” she assured him, winding gauze back around his head. She paused. “What’s going on between you two, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Frank mumbled, playing dumb.

Claire let out a puff of laughter. “He’s got his martyr face on. I know what that means by now, Frank.”

“What if I don’t know what it means?” Frank demanded gruffly.

“It means Matt’s about to do something stupid and push away someone he cares a lot about. I’ve seen that look more times than I want to count right now,” she said softly. She finished her work and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I don’t get him, and I sure as hell don’t get you, but I can see two blind guys being assholes when they’re right in front of me. Just don’t do something you’ll both regret.”

After Claire left, Frank sat on the couch trying to convince himself to follow her advice and not “do something they’d both regret,” but damned if Frank knew which path he’d regret taking more. A shitty end was before him no matter what angle he looked at things from. He’d either end up letting Red take him in or fighting his way out of the apartment. Neither option held much appeal. True, on the inside, he’d have his pick of scumbags if they tossed him back in general population, but he was needed more on the outside—even if he wasn’t wanted. But fighting Red seemed wrong. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Red even when he’d just been some do-gooder in a mask, and that feeling had intensified a hundred times over.

From above, the hinges of the roof hatch squeaked. Frank had gotten used to the sound, but was still relieved when he heard Red’s voice. “It was pretty quiet out there,” he said as heavy footsteps moved down the stairs.

“Maybe the scum is wising up and getting out of your city,” Frank joked. He’d never fully understand how the man could be so territorial over ten damn blocks.

“Or maybe they know you’ll be back at it sooner or later,” Red bit back with a laugh. There was an edge to his words that Frank couldn’t place and didn’t want to question.

One more day, Frank reminded himself. He would be gone one way or another. His mind once again was asking: _What is it that you’ll regret when this is all over?_ Running a hand through his hair, Frank said the only thing he could really think of.

“Thank you, Red.”

“For what?” the vigilante asked as there was a heavy thud of a boot being dropped to the floor. “That wasn’t exactly a compliment.”

“I meant for everything you’ve been doing for me. Hell, anyone else would have just dropped me off and let me take my chances. Not only did you take care of me, but you shared your home with me. That’s not something I take for granted,” Frank said sincerely. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you… me being me and all.”

“Frank, I’m glad you’re here. You said the other night that you never wanted me dead or hurt, and I feel the same way.” Red was once again, right on top of Frank with almost no notice. “I don’t regret bringing you here. I don’t regret any of it.”

“Not even waking up in my arms?”

Red’s breath caught. “I don’t regret that either, even though I probably should.”

“Christ, I want to kiss you, but I’ll probably miss,” Frank laughed roughly.

“But I won’t.”

He didn’t.

Frank had thought the first kiss they’d shared was mind blowing. This was better. He wasn’t afraid that he’d break Red if he touched him this time. Giving into the urge to yank the smaller body against his own, he crushed their chests together, ignoring the bite of Red’s armor against his skin. Frank ran his lips and tongue down the side of Red’s throat and jaw, reveling in the sounds that came out of the act.

“Tell me to stop or get the hell out of that suit,” Frank growled against the sensitive spot beneath Reds ear.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Red murmured between gasps.

He pulled Frank along in his wake towards the general direction of the bedroom. Frank was a long ways away from being able to navigate the distance on his own. Listening to the sounds of clothes hitting the floor without being able to see the bounty before him was torture. The only consolation Frank had was that once the deed was done, he’d be able to run his hands over that body he’d been dying for. He wasted no time yanking off his own clothes and crawling on his knees to the center of the mattress.

Without warning, a hand pushed Frank flat on his back, and Red was straddling him. The sensation of bare skin against his own was almost enough to make Frank come undone. He could feel the length of Red’s cock nearly onto of his own, and his hands moved to touch. Again, the touch of commanding fingers surprised him, and Frank found his hands captured above his head by Red’s.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this since I came home to you jerking off in my bathtub?” Red growled. His teeth and tongue burned a trail across Frank’s collar bone.

“Hopefully as many times as I have,” Frank managed to grind out.

Red released his hands, and Frank used one to cup the side of Red’s face and the other to fondle the generous gift that was still pressed up against him. Every inch that his fingers caressed was perfect. From the scruff on Red’s cheeks to the muscles defining his middle and on down to the legs that were gliding against his own, Red was perfection—a work of art that demanded to be touched.

Red’s own hands buried in Frank’s hair. Something about that amused Red. “You have curls,” he said almost gleefully.

“So?” Frank demanded.

“I never pictured you with curls.”

“How did you picture me, Red?”

A light hum came out of Red as he continued to play with curls. “Beautiful.”

Neither man seemed as interested in staying with the train of thought as they did with kissing. Frank let his lips join in on the discoveries of Red’s body. There were a good many scars along Red’s chest and stomach that Frank didn’t notice the first time. He took his time and kissed each one he found.

“Tell me what you want, Red?” he breathed against the other man’s hip bone. Beneath him, Red was already writhing.

“I want you inside me,” Red ground out. He pulled away slightly and reached for something across the bed, before shoving a condom and a bottle of lube into Frank’s hands.

“Gladly.”

He took his time. Frank knew that this was a moment that he likely wouldn’t get again. He wanted to be sure to savor each touch and sound as they came. Moving inside of Red was like nothing Frank had known before. It was like he was being trusted with something sacred. He moved in and out of Red’s body with slow deliberation, saying with his body what he knew he probably could never say with words. By the time Red arched his back in completion, Frank was spilling himself inside as well. When they were finished, Frank collapsed half onto of Red’s shoulders.

“Jesus,” Red swore, catching his breath.

“Careful, altar boy, you’re gonna get in trouble,” Frank teased. He placed a sloppy kiss on Red’s jaw, missing his target but not particularly caring. He rolled off of Red and laid contentedly on his back.

Red let out an intoxicating laugh. “I’m already in trouble.”

“You’re not gonna confess this are you?”

The crack earned Frank an elbow to his ribs before Red laid his head on Frank’s chest. The longer they laid like that the more a seed of guilt in Frank’s stomach began to take root.

Frank sobered slightly. “Red, I’ve got something to tell you...”

“Don’t,” Red interrupted. “Whatever it is can wait till morning.”

“Morning,” Frank murmured lightly.

They fell asleep wrapped together, but when Frank woke, he was alone. He groped in the sheets for just a second before acknowledging that Red was gone. Calling out into the apartment, he sat in the bed with a heavy feeling in his gut as only the sounds of the city waking up outside reached his ears in response. He groaned and reached out to the talking clock.“Six nineteen A.M.,” the voice announced. It was too early for Red to be at work, and Frank doubted that Red would have skipped out without at the very least trying to shove pills down his throat. Disgruntled, he crawled out of the bed and began fishing for the clothes he had tossed off last night. He found them neatly folded at the foot of the bed. After throwing them on, he shuffled to the couch and sank down.

Thankfully, Frank didn’t have to wonder for too long where Red had been. He heard a key in the door followed by the sound of someone coming inside.

“Red?” Frank called out.

“Sorry,” came the voice he’d been hoping for. “I ran out to grab bagels for us. I didn’t think you’d wake up so early.”

They ate a quiet meal at the table. Frank couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted to say exactly or how the hell to say it. For his part, Red seemed preoccupied. When prodded, he claimed his mind was on a case, but Frank had a feeling that was a lie. He may not have bullshit detecting ears, but his nose could sniff out a pile in front of him when the time came. In the end, Red hustled off without asking what exactly Frank had been trying to say the night before, and Frank ended up giving up on the idea of confessing what he was probably about to do.

Once he was alone again, Frank made his way to the bathroom and held onto the counter for dear life. He knew reaching up and undoing the bandages was officially the point of no return, but it was a call that he had to make. Waiting for Red to come back to the apartment would only lead to a shit storm that neither of them would actually want. Taking his courage into his hands, Frank began the work of unwinding the bandages—he didn’t trust himself with scissors at the moment. With the job done, Frank remembered Claire’s admonitions to open his eyes slowly.

Surprisingly, there was no pain this time. The light in the bathroom was bright and made his eyes water a bit, but he didn’t feel like anyone was stabbing him in the eyeballs. His own image in the mirror was a bit hazy and a bit unfamiliar. The beard that he had teased Red about looking so good on him was already on its way into Grizzly Adams mode. Around his eyes, the skin still looked puffy and pink. All in all though, he didn’t look as bad as he was fearing he would. He didn’t look sick or weak, that was a start.

Frank helped himself to a shower before emerging from the bathroom. His hair had gone unwashed for a week, and by this point, it felt like there were ants crawling on his scalp. The idea that he was taking his sweet time in the shower because he was secretly hoping Red would come back only crossed his mind fleetingly, but it was an idea he couldn’t think to hard on at the moment. If he did, he had a feeling the guilt he was swimming in would only drown him.

After his shower, he dressed in clean sweats that he found in one of Red’s drawers. Stealing clothes was a shitty thing to do, but he had no clue where Red had put his own clothes. He only hoped he could hunt down his boots. It would be too much to hope for that he and Red wore the same shoe size, and Frank wasn’t looking forward to going out on the streets barefoot. He ended up catching sight of his boots sitting on the bench by the door next to a duffel bag. Frank barely gave the bag a second look as he started lacing the boots, but then he caught a hint of white out of the corner of his eye. Perched on top of the bag were an envelope with his name on it and a pair of oversized sunglasses. Frank’s name was written on the front in large, almost childish looking block letters. He broke the seal and started reading, half expecting what was inside.

_Dear Frank,_

_If you’re reading this, then obviously you’ve gotten your sight back just like Claire predicted you would last night. I know I should have told you that I was on the roof last night when you were talking, but I knew that if I brought it up, we would have some hard choices to make. I hadn’t intended to spy on you and Claire. If I’m being honest, I just wanted to come home and sit around with you. I don’t think you realize how much I’ve come to rely on having you there when I get back. But when I heard Claire telling you to open your eyes slowly, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. I should have come down and talked to you both about it. I guess for all the times the media has called me “the man without fear,” at times, I’m really just a coward. I was afraid that you would either let me take you to the station like I said I would or that we’d end up hurting each other. Honestly, I don’t think I can deal with either scenario, so here I am taking the coward’s way out again and letting you go. There’s five hundred dollars tucked in the envelope. Your body armor and a spare set of clothes in the bag along with a few other things I thought you might find useful—no guns, though._

_I know you and I will meet again soon. I know that the last week didn’t change my mission, and even I’m not naive enough to hope that it’s changed yours. We’re going to carry on much the way we have since I met you. You protecting people in your way. Me protecting them in mine._

_Yours,_

_Matt_

_A.K.A Red_

_P.S. Wear the sunglasses. Claire gave you a warning and you should listen to it, even though I rarely do._

Frank chuckled as he finished the letter. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse for leaving when all was said and done. The only small feeling of satisfaction he got out of the letter was in seeing Red’s signature tucked between typed text. It was small and slightly tilted to one side, but it made Frank smile nonetheless. He tucked the letter carefully into the bag and was on his way.


End file.
